life’s too short to even care at all.

 Hello from my bed. It may be only 7:00 but I already have my fuzzy socks on and am positioned under the covers. The lights are even off. No, I am not ready for bed; it is just kind of really chilly in this apartment, and I didn’t want to sit in those uncomfortable squeaky chairs in the kitchen. Italians obviously do not believe in decent warming devices in their apartments (probably because they do have a lot more hair on their bodies than other countries… but STILL. I am a hairless American who needs to be warm!) Okay, I am over exaggerating a little bit. Truth is, my bed is comfortable and I like the way the comforter practically glows in the dark because it is so neon yellow.

I apologize for such an awful introduction paragraph. Lets try this again.

Young the Giant’s most recent album is playing through my headphones right now as my feet are cuddling underneath my neon yellow comforter. The only light coming into the room is from the sliding propped open door. This square shadow of light (play on words, eh?) is enough light to frame Rachel’s bed in a halo like fashion. I am wearing my “your blog sucks” tee shirt and feeling really good about life.

Now, wasn’t that better?

Italy was beautiful today. This morning, I woke up with a burst of energy that needed to be set free. I harvested this emotion by going out on an hour long stroll, wandering through streets, kicking leaves up in the small park to the left, and watching old men row boats down the Arno river. It was truly refreshing.

I simply love this city. Walking home from school after class today, I really tried to soak in everything I passed. I have become so accustom to the route from casa mia (my house) to the school, that I sometimes take for granted how magical Firenze is. For example, as I was walking I breathed in deeply (with my new nose!!) the smells of home cooking, cigars, and that certain Italian city smell (no, not the pee and beer smell thank you, there is another one that I cannot put a name to.) I was walking down the little side street and I noticed the steam coming out of what looked like an air vent for one of the walled apartments. The way it swirled up and dispensed into the cold air as thick white petals was entrancing. I still smile at the lines of clothes that hang out of windows, even though it is a common sight in my days here. Now that I have lived her for so long, I can look passed the tourist monuments and really fall in love with the sweet subtitles.

I have begun to develop the feeling that every city is like this. Salt Lake City is just as beautiful as here, but I do not take the time to notice its details because I realize that I have taken it for granted. You never know what you have until it’s gone right?

Italian language is one of my least favorite classes because I hate being put on the spot and failing miserably when I am. BUT on the plus side, I love the challenge of trying to learn this new, beautiful, language. I want to learn! Oh goodness, my life is so hard. Just kidding. : ) Italian class was alright today. My fingertips were really cold. I have mentioned my pronunciation/spelling problem before, well now in class it is kind of a joke. For example, we were changing verbs from present to past tense, and Joanna chose my word to be the hardest one in the whole wide world (not really) to pronounce just because we all know how I st st stutter. I cannot remember it now and cant look it up in my notes cause I left my notebook at school, but know that it was hilariously hard (for me.) Oh well. Italian class is one of those classes that you dread going to, but once you are there you are fine, and everyone leaves laughing. Nicola may be an awful teacher, but he quite the character. 

This has nothing to do with anything, but it made me laugh. I thought you would need a little giggle on your Monday. 

Thanksgiving is obviously not celebrated here (if you do not know why… you have some serious problems that you need to figure out before reading any further. Google it.) Despite the country we are living in, Joanna, Rachel and I have decided to make a feast. We made a list of items we like to eat and divided them up between the three of us. I am in charge of a fruit and mashed potatoes. I am thinking maybe doing my family’s favorite apples in orange juice mixture and maybe some pomegranates.

Grandma, when Michael reads this to you, please know that I will not do your mashed potatoes justice and I am sending up my white flag. There is no competition; you have already won. Hopefully I will come in at least a close fifth place on the “good mashed potatoes” list. It cannot be very hard right? I mean I do not have a blender or anything... Is it unsanitary to use a rock? (I am only joking Rachel & Joanna; you honestly do not need to worry about if there are going to be dirt and other earthy materials in your buttery potatoes.) 

All I can say is thank goodness I am not in charge of the turkey.

Music Monday Update: Check out the song “Hotel Song” by Regina Spektor. It is a current love of mine.

I finished Like Water for Chocolate. Please read it. I had chills of wonderful emotion through out the entire thing. It is an easy, magical, read. (Please note that the picture to the right is not the real cover of the book, but an illustration someone did. I found it on google and liked it. That is all. ) 

Also, in the news of the social networking, I think you will find great pleasure in the new follower my twitter account has gained. “Titsoffire” has indeed started to follow my unwitty, too quotey, status update, tweet feed. I feel honored, really. Not many people can say that someone with such a great name is one of their 92 followers. 

My final statement deals with a lot of exclamation marks. Prepare yourself:

MY BEASTIE BECCA IS COMING TO VISIT ME OFFICIALLY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Thank you for reading! Ciao. Xoxo

*title: “Cough Syrup” by Young the Giant

We accept the love we think we deserve.

I finished the novel "The Perks of Being a Wallflower" by Stephen Chbosky, today and it has easily become one of my favorites.  (Yes, the title is from this story. Yes I know I am supposed to put quotation marks around it or else it is called plagiarism.. but it looks funny and presentation is everything. So get over it.) For those who have not read this amazing tale of fiction, I suggest going to the local library and borrowing it. And if you can/ wish- you may go to the book store and actually purchase it. (If you are like me.. I like to write in and highlight my books. I do not know why.) Every page was a new surprise. The story had me afraid, nervous, happy, laughing, crying, hoping, dreaming, wondering, and never gaining boredom from it. 

About the Book: 

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to receive letters from someone you've never met? In the novel, Charlie, a 14 year old boy- just entering high school, writes to a mystery person about life, love, and all the other things involved with growing up. He stands on the outside of life, making beautiful observations about how life doesn't always make sense. The people surrounding him make many efforts to have him "live his life" rather than sit on the sidelines. These attempts, along with the pains of growing up help Charlie to come to shocking realizations about his past. Stephen Chbosky created an amazingly, amazing, accurate picture of an introverted teenager growing up. Charlie is one of those rare charaters who feels like a friend you never want to lose. This novel paints a beautiful picture that everyone should see. So go read it. 

One of my favorite parts was a poem that Charlie read and shared throughout the novel. 

Here it is: 

Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
 he wrote a poem
And he called it "Chops"
 because that was the name of his dog
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
 and a gold star
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door
 and read it to his aunts
That was the year Father Tracy
 took all the kids to the zoo
And he let them sing on the bus
And his little sister was born
 with tiny toenails and no hair
And his mother and father kissed a lot
And the girl around the corner sent him a
Valentine signed with a row of X's
 and he had to ask his father what the X's meant
And his father always tucked him in bed at night
And was always there to do it

Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
 he wrote a poem
And he called it "Autumn"
 because that was the name of the season
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
 and asked him to write more clearly
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
 because of its new paint
And the kids told him
 that Father Tracy smoked cigars
And left butts on the pews
And sometimes they would burn holes
That was the year his sister got glasses
 with thick lenses and black frames
And the girl around the corner laughed
 when he asked her to go see Santa Claus
And the kids told him why
 his mother and father kissed a lot
And his father never tucked him in bed at night
And his father got mad
 when he cried for him to do it.

Once on a paper torn from his notebook
 he wrote a poem
And he called it "Innocence: A Question"
 because that was the question about his girl
And that's what it was all about
And his professor gave him an A
 and a strange steady look
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
 because he never showed her
That was the year that Father Tracy died
And he forgot how the end
 of the Apostle's Creed went
And he caught his sister
 making out on the back porch
And his mother and father never kissed
 or even talked
And the girl around the corner
 wore too much makeup
That made him cough when he kissed her
 but he kissed her anyway
 because that was the thing to do
And at three a.m. he tucked himself into bed
 his father snoring soundly

That's why on the back of a brown paper bag
 he tried another poem
And he called it "Absolutely Nothing"
Because that's what it was really all about
And he gave himself an A
 and a slash on each damned wrist
And he hung it on the bathroom door
 because this time he didn't think
 he could reach the kitchen.

"It's kind of like when you look at yourself in the mirror and you say your name. 

And it gets to a point where none of it seems real. 

Well, sometimes, I can do that, but I don't need an hour in front of a mirror. 

It just happens very fast, and things start to slip away. 

And I just open my eyes, and 

I see nothing. 

And then I start to breathe really hard trying to see something, 

but I can't. 

It doesn't happen all the time, 

but when it does, 

it scares me." 

- Charlie, The Perk of Being A Wallflower